Dedication of one
by Christiiine
Summary: The forlorn reality is that certain guidelines cannot be ignored or fooled. It hurts more than Isabella Swan can admit. The relationship between a teacher and his student is one of them. It pains even more when the other party pushes you away.AU,T for now


**Chapter 1**

Molecular biology is not exactly a passion. It's not a calling either. It's something in between.

You do not wake up one bright day and decide to become a molecular biologist. It doesn't work that way. Before, you have to have your biggest dreams broken. Only after that can you move on to a safe choice, to a right one. It is upon realization that you will never become a real classical dancer that you turn your full attention to the microscope.

At least, that's how it was for me.

I remember applying to the New York University, hands shaky and eyes watery. This is where I want to study, I kept telling myself, this is where I have to end up. Because, truth be told, I had allowed myself one shot and one shot only. If not this then I'll have to go to another state. And that would just plainly ruin my life.

Key word : my. I didn't say _social_ life, hence I never really did have one.

For the most part of my youth, ballet had been my best friend and lover. I had given it my full adoration, respect, dedication. In return, life spat in my face. I had been branded too tall and with an odd structure. My legs weren't perfect, you see.

Don't think me easily insulted. At first, I returned the blow and ignored whatever had been told to me. Then the fun started. So many auditions for higher schools of education and always one, crucial answer : you are good, but...

It was that little word, that 'but, which defeated me.

After two months of mourning my chimera, I became molecular biology's girl.

When I got accepted, there was no overwhelming joy in me or even excitement. Simply contentment.

"Well then, Bella," I've said to myself, "your future is settled now."

And then of course there was the matter of Dr. Edward Masen.

Biology being a parallel fascination, I had followed the works and publications of the said man. His research, while in no way revolutionary, was fascinating in its own way. I had attempted to get passes to some of the conferences he had given, but being nobody at the time I had being carelessly told to hang up the phone or asked to leave.

Dr. Edward Masen was the reason behind me applying to only one University : he was teaching there.

Now I had no idea how I was going to do it, but somehow, I assured myself, I was going to find a way to be in his class.

"But why ?" Alice, my best friend, had asked with a cocked eyebrow. "What's so special about him ?"

"He's a genius !" I had exclaimed.

And the conversation had ended there.

My life had been uneventful until I attended a party hosted by a well-known professor in the field I was about to dedicate my life to. How did I get in ?

Please. My father had been his student.

* * *

"You have no interest in the cloning process !" Professor Thomas Ray exclaimed as his hand reached to grab another glass of champagne. "Charlie ! Can you believe this ? Are you sure she's your daughter ?"

"Quite sure, Thomas," my father laughed. "Get away while you still can, kiddo," he then whispered into my ear once the older man turned away for a brief instant.

I did as I was bid. Like a wild animal, I traversed the room, the high heels killing my feet – I was sure I would find blood tonight when taking them off.

The thought hit me most brutally. It's what had happened after numerous ballet lessons.

Ballet.

I had poured my soul into it.

I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and grabbed the first glass of some strange cocktail in front of me. By the taste, it seemed to be a Grasshopper.

"Miss."

I snapped back into reality, shaking my head and looking around, trying to pinpoint the origin of the voice. A quite a pleasant one, it had been.

"Miss, excuse me,"

There it was again – and at once I felt a hand upon my shoulder.

Before me stood Edward Masen with a look of pure unhappiness upon his face. All I found to do was to open my mouth and never close it again.

* * *

"Be careful whose drinks you take next time," he told me in a clipped tone, eyes upon the Grasshopper in my left hand.

Once more, my jaw dropped.

Before me was Edward Masen. A man who was developing a new theory concerning replication along with some of the greatest minds of this state. He was a wanted, coveted, guest at many speakings. And here I was sipping at his drink.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Masen," I stuttered. "So, so, sorry. I greatly -"

He cut me off both with a vague gesture of a gloved hand and accusing gaze. Instantly, I grew red.

"It's quite alright," he said, though by his tone it was more than evident that it wasn't. "Be sure you look around next time, miss."

"Swan !" I interjected.

It was only after a painful moment of silence that I realized that the 'miss' hadn't been followed by a pause demanding my surname. Though brash, Dr. Masen was still a man of old conduct and cold, polite manners. He nodded, a sign of acknowledgement, and answered :

"Very well, Ms. Swan."

And then he made move to leave.

I followed him with my eyes, hating myself for having ruined this one chance for conversation with Edward Masen as an equal. Now, he was going to either see me as a droll girl or, worse, a student.

Though a qualified teacher, he was said not to be particularly close to his scholars.

I spent the rest of the evening upon a settee I found. My mood had at last been ruined, and as I watched people, content and merry, pass by, I couldn't help but bury my face into my hands.

My life was a disaster.

And my feet still hurt.

Careful for no one to see, I slowly kicked away one shoe. A droplet of blood had had the time to dry, and now was decorating the bottom of my tights.

Tears welled in my eyes. Hastily, I took off the other shoe, denying myself the sight that was down there, and made a few, clumsy steps toward the bathroom. There, fortune at last smiled on me.

Well, perhaps not smiled. Merely gave me a small, sad, wink.

There was no one.

I locked myself in one of the stalls and silently cried a little.

I cried for myself, for my abandoned dream, for my stupidity. But mostly of all, I wept because I had fully given myself to a profession which was full of egoistical people who were so very different from me.

Edward Masen was the copy of my father. Charlie Swan was a kind man when it came to his family – me – but as cold as the previously mentioned professor. It hurt to finally discover what world I had chosen for myself.

The party flew by.

According to my father.

As for me, never had I spent more time in the bathroom. I hid there to avoid Dr. Masen. It just felt wrong to take the chance to bump into him again.

However, when I tried to run upon seeing him approaching my father, Charlie caught me by the arm and forced to remain by his side.

"Dr. Masen !" he exclaimed, eagerly extending his hand.

"Dr. Swan," Edward Masen calmly replied, returning the handshake.

There was no emotion whatsoever to be found in his voice. It made me shiver. How could a man be so dispassionate, so apathetic ?

They've exchanged formal greetings, Masen questioned Charlie about his work as custom demanded, and they moved on to more personal matters. Charlie, of course, was elated to be talking to him. I was aware of the fact that he knew the man, but it had never occurred to me that they were friends.

And then when Edward Masen gave my father that superior look, I understood that they weren't.

"May I introduce," Charlie suddenly exclaimed, "my daughter Isabella."

Charlie was tall. I, on the contrary, was not.

Even though those ballet idiots had affirmed that I was.

Until then, I had been able to hide behind him, but at last he caught me by the waist and pushed me forward.

At once, Masen's eyes were one me – and they were accusing. He made a step back, bowed his head as he had done prior, and awaited the established introduction.

"This is Dr. Edward Masen," Charlie hurried to tell. "But I am sure that she knows that already," he added, gifting me with a nudge in the ribs a moment later.

"Dr. Masen," I murmured, averting my eyes.

This was awful, I could tell he desired to be as far away from me as humanly possible, yet remained here out of some sort of respect.

What joy ! He once more was seeing the drink thief !

"You have a very beautiful daughter, Dr. Swan," at last he spoke.

"Thank you," I replied, somewhat shakily.

A compliment from the cold Edward Masen ?

"Oh yes, oh yes indeed !" Charlie beamed. "And soon to be your student, Dr. Masen !"

At those words, I saw his eyes widen and quickly assume their previous, impassive shape. He nodded, and brought the glass of wine he had now acquired to his lips, finishing it all-too fast.

"How fortunate," he said.

I wished to yell something as he walked away, tell him how much I appreciated the opportunity. But it seemed that it didn't matter.


End file.
